


Birdwatching Goes Both Ways

by mollydewinter



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, Breathplay, Buckle up kids, Dirty Talk, Doflamingo sex therapy fic when, Double Penetration, Face-Fucking, Face-Sitting, Fisting, Fivesome - M/M/M/M/M, Group Sex, I'm going to church after this, Lingerie, M/M, Messy, Oral Sex, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M, sexual favors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29939118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollydewinter/pseuds/mollydewinter
Summary: Doflamingo has always had an appreciation for art, for beauty. The moment he laid eyes on that man, a true masterpiece by his own right, he knew he had to acquire him somehow, even if only for a brief taste.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk, Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk/Donquixote Doflamingo, Crocodile/Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante, Crocodile/Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante/Dracule Mihawk, Crocodile/Donquixote Doflamingo, Crocodile/Donquixote Doflamingo/Dracule Mihawk, Donquixote Doflamingo/Dracule Mihawk
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Birdwatching Goes Both Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody and Happy Birthday to my favorite boys! Idk about you but I think sharing a birthday with your life-long rival turned friend automatically makes you married
> 
> So this is one of two (three maybe) sort of tribute pieces I wanna do for Shanks and Mihawk day BUT this one has Doflamingo in it, as well as Crocodile and Roci. To give you some insight, Doflamingo is a totally legitimate art dealer and auction house owner and he becomes acquainted with Mihawk, who's married to Shanks. Of course, Mihawk is extremely cold and rude to him which only makes Doflamingo thirstier lmao I won't spoil anything else, I'll leave the rest up for you to discover!
> 
> Little disclaimer: as you read in the tags, Roci also participates in the same group sex as his brother though there aren't any explicit scenes with the two of them interacting. Doflamingo mainly teases his little brother's ability to fuck. Like I said, nothing explicit between the bros, but I still thought I'd give you the heads up
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story and please tell me if you did! Also feel free to follow me on Twitter @_mollydewinter_ for hourly tweets of me thirsting for Rayleigh

  
Doflamingo has always been a lover of beauty. Whether in the simple things or man and God’s most astonishing creations, it was always there for him to see, grasp, appreciate and worship. The sunlight caught in his mother’s golden hair, the Van Gogh in the piano room, the sea on a perfect summer day, the absolute perfection of a raw diamond. Doflamingo’s first memory is of when he was big enough to clutch his mother’s knees, hiding sheepishly behind her leg as she walked him through an exhibition, explaining the various artworks they saw. At the time, the grandeur of the art displayed on the walls was too much for him to understand, though the image stuck in his young, impressionable mind. He remembers the trips in Rome, to the family estate in Tivoli, where he’d spent the summers marveling at both Baroque masterpieces and the ripe peaches hanging in the garden.

Yes, he had always had an eye for beauty, had always known how and where to find it. It was only natural for him to follow a career path that made use of his passion and greatest skill. There are layers to what he does, what enabled him to build a house gilded in gold, but the nonchalant answer he often gives is ‘art curator and auction house owner’. To his credit, it’s not that far from the truth. 

He’s sitting on the side as he watches Kaido’s men put down another crate. Monet is directing the whole operation and frankly, she’s doing a fantastic job. So much so, that his intervention is hardly necessary.

“Careful,” he hears her hiss, gently but persistently directing the brutes. He smiles, shaking his head. Kaido views this as strictly business. The precious items held in those crates, the ones Doflamingo sells on his behalf, mean nothing to him. Show him a Degas and one of Yamato’s watercolor paintings from kindergarten and he won’t be able to tell the difference. Perhaps that’s why they make such a good pair. Doflamingo, ever the romantic, would never allow his business partner to treat art dealership like a common trade. Finding the right hands, the right master to appreciate and worship the creations as they deserve is a form of art all in itself.

Some blockhead with a crowbar opens up the crate. Monet scribbles something in her ever-present notebook and peers inside. She turns to him, smiling. “Dad,” she says. “Come take a look.”

Doflamingo steps away from his seat and joins his daughter’s side. Monet has every right to be impressed. The contents of that crate are simply divine. It’s a weapon, if anyone could ever even call it only that. It’s a marvelous sword, a true work of art. Its blade is long and curved, ending in a needle-sharp tip. It catches the light, its flawless, black surface glimmering green in some places. The handle is crafted out of gold, carved with intricate floral designs, and adorned with sapphires. Doflamingo reaches into the crate and lifts the sword in his hands. Strange as it sounds, he can _feel_ the energy seep into his system through his skin. It’s heavy, only looking at it can cut.

He places it back in with a pleased hum. “Wonderful,” he murmurs. “She’ll be the centerpiece for tonight’s auction.”

Monet gives the workers some further instructions and quickly follows her father out of the warehouse. “What’s the starting price?”

“For something like that? We’re not taking anything less than 15 million.” Monet notes that in her book and shuts it with a satisfied smile. 

Doflamingo briefly considers going higher but ultimately decides against it. The art market is already a peculiar terrain to navigate through, and things only get more complicated when it comes to weapons. There’s definitely a target audience willing to spend small fortunes in order to acquire rare items, the only problem lies in finding them. In that aspect, partnering with Kaido is a blessing. The people around him seem naturally drawn to the acquisition of such creations. They mostly do it to antagonize one another rather than out of appreciation for the art. Doesn’t matter. The end result is the same for Doflamingo.

The auction is set to begin at 7 PM. As always, Doflamingo remains in his office, watching the whole thing through the live stream. It’s nowhere near as glamorous as a traditional auction, though it quickly proved to be the only method of getting anything done around here. Putting too many people that hate each other in the same room and forcing them to compete is never a good idea, despite sounding vaguely entertaining. The only time he interacts with the clients face-to-face is when they come to collect their purchases. 

Today’s event goes as smoothly as one would expect. Monet is the general overseer while Doflamingo observes the scene from his office. Time goes by quite quickly until they finally get to the main event. Just as Doflamingo had guessed, the demand for such a marvelous work of art is high. Even clients that had already paid handsomely for other items, even those notoriously stingy ones, bid more, wanting to own the stunning sword. The offers keep getting higher and higher. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty. Doflamingo watches the derby, smiling to himself, wondering when they will stop.

All bidding ceases immediately the moment someone offers fifty million dollars. Doflamingo can see his daughter’s surprise but Monet masks it quickly, continuing on with her usual duties. 

“Do I hear fifty-five million?” Silence. Doflamingo watches intently, wondering if anyone is willing to offer more. 

“Do I hear fifty-five million?” Monet repeats. Doflaningo scoots closer, eyes fixed on the screen. “One...two...three… Sold!”

He leans back into his chair, smiling. Fifty million it is. The sword is brought into his office along with the contract. His curiosity skyrockets. Whoever it is that was so willing to spend a fortune on the blade must have been truly desperate to find it. 

The question is answered shortly after when the new owner steps inside. Doflamingo can only smile, marveling at how a boring day got so interesting so fast.

“Never thought of you as the type for auctions,” he comments idly.

Shanks smiles, little casual, little awkward. “I’m not,” he admits with a chuckle, almost as if he’s caught doing something wrong. “It’s just a special occasion.”

This might sound absurd coming from Doflamingo but Shanks is a deeply weird man. Normally, a guy like him would go unnoticed. Maybe the missing arm would be noted and definitely the scarlet hair. That’s it. A strikingly handsome man that came and went in an instant. But he’s not just that. Every time he enters the room, the oxygen seems to disappear. The magnetism of his aura is unparalleled, the sheer power his persona exudes is paralyzing. Entirely unassuming but absolutely electrifying.

“And what would that be?”

“It’s an anniversary gift.”

The reply comes casually - like all things about Shanks - but Doflamingo adds it to the relatively small pile of information he has on the redhead. It’s odd, how Shanks is out there, how he calls himself an open book, yet Doflamingo has close to nothing on him. It’s frustrating, to say the least. 

“Anniversary?” Shanks nods. He approaches the desk, eyeing the contract. Doflamingo’s gaze flickers to the door. Benn Beckman looms around the corner, a very vague threat with his finger on the trigger. “Your Dad and his wife?”

“No. My husband and I.”

Ah. The husband. This ever-elusive creature that borders on fantasy. He exists, from what Doflamingo has gathered, in another plane of reality, voluntarily concealed from everything and everyone. He’s rarely ever mentioned and when it happens, it’s a slip of the tongue that’s covered up hastily. 

“Congratulations,” Doflaingo murmurs as he passes the redhead a pen. He struggles a bit. Must have been left-handed. “How many years?”

Shanks smiles, a curved and cheeky little grin, as he doesn’t even look at the other man. “What do you want, Doflamingo?”

“Just making small talk.”

Shanks chuckles. “Man like you making small talk?” He scribbles his signature where it’s required and passes the papers back to Doflamingo. 

“You expected to make such a purchase and walk away without an interrogation?” Shanks bursts out in loud laughter. “Is he worth it?” Shanks rolls his eyes, looking at him like he just heard the dumbest question. “Must be quite the guy.”

“Must be.”

Doflamingo shifts. This is new. Shanks is usually so loud, eagerly blabbing about his family, especially his horrible son who Doflamingo’s own nephew had the nerve to introduce as his boyfriend. He evades all questions about his spouse, giving either hums or non-responses back. Doflamingo has never been the one to learn from his mistakes and he can feel his curiosity taking over, venom spreading in his veins.

“There’s a party this Friday,” Doflamingo mentions and for the first time since he’s stepped in, Shanks is actually paying attention to him. “My villa. It’s mostly wine-tasting and some… art appreciation. You should come.”

“Thanks for the invitation. I’ll consider it.”

Doflamingo snorts. “No need to be polite, Red. Just say ‘no’.”

“But I am actually considering it,” Shanks replies candidly. “This type of snobbish bullshit sounds exactly like what Hawkeyes likes.”

Hawkeyes. Finally, this creature of legend has a name.

..

  
Come Friday and Doflamingo finds himself leaning against a wall, nursing a glass of wine while observing the crowd and the party. Another successful gathering, which was to be expected. Once again, he has opened his mansion’s doors and has invited his selected guests to bear witness to all its splendor. Though the chilly October weather prohibits them from enjoying lush gardens, the mansion’s interior makes up for it tenfold. 

The light from the crystal chandeliers bounces on the gilded marble floors, the golden mirrors and the glasses of champagne held in poised hands. The guests are coming and going in waves, mumbling in awe about the overwhelming opulence of Doflamingo’s estate. Doflamingo listens to various conversations, barely interested in the chatter that rises to the intricately decorated ceiling. He’s bored out of his mind and he’s scanning the crowd, desperately looking for a cure to his disease.

A jaded sigh and a sip of champagne later, he sees it.

It’s not often that another person catches Doflamingo’s eye so abruptly, halts his breath so suddenly, but this one is so, so worth it. He’s captivating in a way no one has ever been. The light around him dims, the temperature drops. Doflamingo watches him descend the stairs like a deity touching down on a realm not worthy of his time. He’s all long legs and straight back as he walks, poised and arrogant, each step oozing self-confidence. He’s terribly vain, his demeanor screams it, but such a creature deserves it more than anyone. His suit is tight, the curve of his waist is absolutely sinful underneath the expensive fabric. Like a child marveling at the Christmas lights, Doflamingo’s hungry gaze moves upwards, finding that face, _those_ _eyes_. God, those eyes. Any proof of God’s existence can be found in them. Pure gold, shining brilliantly against alabaster skin, trapped between thick, dark lashes. They flutter open slowly, looking upon the gathering with disdain. An elegant, pale hand brings a crystal glass up to his lips, wetting them with wine. A scarlet drop strays but he catches it with his thumb before it can go too far down, sucking it in his mouth.

Doflamingo hisses. 

He has a sneaking suspicion about this man’s identity. His worst fear is confirmed when Shanks - of all people - is the one to approach this divine creature. He loops his arm around the other’s waist and pulls him in, placing a kiss on his neck.

Doflamingo’s legs move on their own and he’d be a fool to stop them. 

He stops before the pair and Shanks returns his grin with a polite smile. The black-haired man makes no move to acknowledge him. His lips are pressed in a scowl, his eyes are stabbing into Doflamingo. His reluctance to socialize makes him all the more enticing. Doflamingo’s adoration of the unwilling is notorious. He has to earn this man’s attention and if such a spot doesn’t exist, he’s going to create it.

“Doflamingo!” Shanks exclaims. One word in and Doflamingo can tell that the redhead’s poison of the night is most definitely vodka. He squeezes his partner’s waist tighter, once again nosing up his neck. The other scowls, giving him a roll of his eyes. “This is my husband, Dracule Mihawk. Hawkeyes, this is Donquixote Doflamingo, the man I told you about.”

Doflamingo grins, cocking a brow. “You’ve been talking about me?”

“In passing,” Mihawk growls. It’s only two words but Doflamingo is already shivering at the sound. Mihawk sounds just as he expected him to, even better. His voice is smooth like velvet, cold as ice. He speaks like it’s a hassle, like Doflamingo owes him for wasting a few, precious seconds.

Needless to say, he can finally understand why Shanks is so secretive about his spouse. A treasure like this needs to be concealed from prying eyes, from those that foolishly think they can ever stand a chance. It’s obvious that Shanks wants to show him off. Who wouldn’t want to show the whole world that a jewel like this belongs only to him? Doflamingo wonders if he’s ever seen a man so ethereal, more regal and more fucking expensive than anything Mariejois holds. The decision to remain away from the public sphere has to be all Mihawk. He’s still looking around with exasperation, probably thinking of a way to escape from this as quickly as possible. 

“Congratulations on your anniversary,” Doflamingo murmurs. “How many years is it?”

“Twenty,” Shanks responds. “Twenty years of heaven.”

“Here’s to twenty more.” The blond raises his glass, prompting the two others to join the toast. He searches for Mihawk’s gaze, locking eyes with the other man through rose-tinted glasses. “Interesting choice for an anniversary gift. Are you a collector?”

“Yes, I am. I am also never in the mood to engage in small talk.” He drinks once again, draining the glass to the last drop. “I thought Donquixote Doflamingo would be an interesting man but this has to be one of the most boring conversations I have ever had.”

With that, Mihawk walks away, not sparing Doflamingo another glance. Shanks trots behind him, looking at him like he’s seeing God for the first time. Doflamingo watches as the two move to the other side of the room, unable to tear his gaze off of the vision in black. 

The party goes as well as one would expect. In an uncharacteristic move, Doflamingo has entrusted his children with entertaining his guests. When someone approaches with the intent to strike a conversation, he only offers them a few seconds of his time, if any at all. This evening, his attention is entirely dedicated to _him_. He only has eyes for Mihawk, standing on the other side of the room, watching his every move and making no effort to hide. He chases that golden gaze and each time he manages to catch it, he raises his glass at the other man, bringing it to his grinning lips. His silent advances have been noticed by Shanks, who leans into his husband’s ear, whispering pure filth while locking eyes with Doflamingo. 

“Do you have a death wish?”

Doflamingo is so absorbed in observing Mihawk that he barely registers Rosinante strolling up to him. He turns his head to the side, looking at his little brother. It’s a nice change to see him dressed up for once. Tall, blond, and handsome, striking in his burgundy suit, he actually looks like an aristocrat. Of course, there are the little hints that make Rosinante who he is. The burnt spot on his dress shirt, the chipped nail polish, all those tiny things that make Doflamingo love him so.

“Would you please be so kind as to elaborate, baby brother?”

Rosinante rolls his eyes. “You’ve been eye-fucking Hawkeyes the whole evening.”

Doflamingo snorts. Only Rosinante could have noticed that, though, to be fair, Doflamingo isn’t being subtle. “Your point?”

“Shanks is going to kill you.”

Doflamingo has heard bits and pieces, tales of what Shanks is capable of transforming into when enraged. He wonders how far he can push his luck, what the price for a taste of that golden-eyed sin is. 

“Promise?”

As he takes a step forward, Rosinante yanks him back, holding him by the wrist. He’s serious, Doflamingo realizes, which only makes his smile widen. “How sweet you are, baby brother,” he purrs. He reaches up, caressing his brother’s cheek, running his thumb over his bottom lip. “No need to worry about me.”

Rosinante sighs, defeated. There’s no stopping his brother when he’s like this, when he has his mind set on something and his desire is in his sight. Literally. “Your selfishness will be your death, Doffy,” he sighs.

“Selfishness? Au contraire, Roci. I fully intend on sharing the goods when I get my hands on them.”

Approaching Mihawk proves to be harder than Doflamingo has expected. Shanks is glued on him like a second skin, arm looped around his waist and when he’s not talking, his lips are greedily pressed against his husband’s face and neck. Mihawk walks around the exhibit, observing the artwork and testing out the different blends, all the while the redhead follows him around. He has little interest in anything that’s going on, lavishing his attention on his spouse. He’s drunk, Doflamingo notes, unsurprisingly. He’s gotten bolder, sneaking hot kisses and letting his hand and lips slip underneath Mihawk’s clothes, much to the other’s annoyance. It takes some time, definitely the longest Doflamingo’s ever spent chasing someone, but Mihawk eventually discards his spouse. He entrusts his care to two of Shanks’ men that drag him out to the car and continues making his rounds, taking in the artwork without any distractions.

“Thought you’d left by now,” he hums as he approaches the other man from behind where he stands before a Gaughin. “Seeing that your other half has done so already.”

“We’re not joined at the hip,” Mihawk comments idly. From where Doflamingo is, he has the loveliest view of the black-haired man’s backside and profile. His eyes roam over the curve of Mihawk’s waist, the swell of his ass underneath those high-waisted slacks, and back up to his sharp cheekbones. The wine has given his pale cheeks the sweetest flush, his lips are sticky with it, too. 

“Definitely didn’t look that way. He was practically glued to you the whole evening.”

Doflamingo only receives silence as a response. He’s chatty himself and he’s always been drawn to the taciturn types, his own partner being the prime example of that. They’re alone in the room, listening to the sounds of the gathering like distant white noise. Doflamingo follows Mihawk around, surprised to see that he hasn’t been pushed away yet.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Was.”

Doflamingo chuckles. “I see. You’re one of those that use sarcasm to repel others.”

Mihawk hums. “Yet here you are.”

“You’ll find that I’m quite persistent. I don’t stop until I get what I want.”

Mihawk turns around, facing the blond. He’s quite small, though everyone is by Doflamingo’s standards. He can’t even begin to imagine how breath-taking the sight of his hands wrapped around that little waist would be, gripping it until bruises form while he fucks this beauty into the bed.

“And what do you want? Besides annoying me, that is.”

“I think you know.”

Quite unexpectedly, Mihawk smiles. It’s a faint little smirk that’s full of irony and over-confidence. It’s mocking, Doflamingo knows it, and that’s exactly what makes him all the more desperate. “You flatter yourself,” Mihawk murmurs. Even after so much wine, his voice hasn’t lost its sharp edge. “Thinking you’re worthy of my time.”

“And what do I have to do to be considered 'worthy of your time’?”

“What makes you think you ever even stood a chance?”

Doflamingo smiles. He opens his arms, motioning at them both and the emptiness that surrounds them. “You’re still here.”

..

The bathroom would have been entirely quiet if it wasn’t for the sound of flesh meeting flesh, all those moans and the huffy breaths, the filthy whispers. The scent of sex drifts about the humid room, making the atmosphere nearly unbearable. The mirror has fogged up and source of everything are the two men, fucking in earnest on the marble countertop.  
  
The pace is frenzied, brutal, and relentless. Shanks is pistoning his hips almost mechanically, his motions are fluid and precise, fucking his husband deeply. He’s tight as a vice yet he opens up so willingly, dropped on his forearms as he offers himself to the redhead. He rocks his hips back in an attempt to match the pace but tonight, Shanks is completely in control.

He reaches into Mihawk’s messy black hair and yanks him up, pressing sweaty skin against skin. His mouth finds his husband’s neck, teeth and tongue skimming over the marks he’d already left, creating new ones. His breath is hot and heavy against Mihawk’s ear, spiced with alcohol, dripping with desire. Mihawk gasps and before the breath is fully out of his mouth, Shanks has his hand wrapped around his neck, stealing it while fucking him sweetly.

“Did you see it?” he growls. His fingers dig into the soft flesh. A little whine escapes Mihawk and Shanks forces his head to the side, drinking the sound from his lips. His lover is always so quiet, any sound he makes is a rare and decadent treat. But he’s so loud tonight, by his own standards. Shanks feels spoiled, greedy, snapping his hips while yearning for more.

“The way he was looking at you, _fucking_ you with his eyes.”

Shanks hisses when Mihawk clenches around him so prettily, sucking his cock in. He grins against Mihawk’s throat, feeling his pulse quicken underneath his kisses. Of course he noticed. Not that Doflamingo ever bothered hiding it, everyone could tell even underneath the glasses. 

“You want him to fuck you?” His voice is a sharp hiss, heavy with desire. 

A devilish smile spreads on Mihawk’s puffy lips. He leans closer to his husband, grazing his teeth over his stubbly jaw. “Only if you’re watching.”

Shanks groans. His hand travels lower, finding Mihawk’s thigh. He pushes the leg on the counter and Mihawk obliges, opening himself wider, allowing Shanks to sink deeper. It’s always a bit awkward when they’re fucking like this, but the angle is absolutely perfect. Shanks pulls Mihawk’s head back, making him rest on his shoulder. Their eyes meet, their lips graze against each other, drinking each other’s moans and pants. The quiet little sounds Mihawk makes resonate within the redhead’s chest, loud and clear.

“So you want him?” he asks in a single, short breath. “Am I not enough for you?”

There’s that smile again, that hazy, cocky smirk that’s reserved only for Shanks, used only when they’re like this. “You’re losing your edge,” Mihawk has the audacity to keen and Shanks can’t help but laugh.

“Can’t believe you’re still talking shit when my cock’s making you _drool_.”

He seeks Mihawk’s reflection in the mirror in front of them. The sight is simply breath-taking. His face is twisted into an expression of rapture, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. Thick lashes flutter lazily, the gold behind them sparkles with lust. The tireless, frenzied rolling of Shanks’ hips leaves him gasping for air, open-mouthed, unable to hush himself. His arms are shaking, his leg is slipping on the marble floor underneath. He can feel it, his body is going numb with pleasure, gathered in the pits of his belly. Shanks reaches up once again, squeezing around his throat. Black spots fog his vision and Mihawk lets go, moaning shamelessly as he releases. Shanks, always so willing to see his lover near the edge of desperation, fucks him right through it. His moves are getting sloppier, rough and rugged as he chases his own orgasm. His mouth finds the junction of Mihawk’s neck and shoulder and he marks it with his teeth, biting all the way to the man’s jaw. 

He’s close, he knows it. He’s already lasted longer than he usually does when drunk. It’s all Mihawk’s fault for riling him up like that and the fact that he’s so smug about it is driving Shanks insane. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” he moans. Demise has never looked so sweet. There’s that familiar _pull_ on his sack and Shanks is cumming mere seconds later, gasping out his husband’s name while releasing inside of him, holding him tight against his own body while filling him up. 

He stills once he’s milked himself dry. The room falls back in silence, broken only by the steady huff of their shared breathing. Mihawk turns his head to the side, looking for his husband’s lips. They kiss lazily, sloppily, tongues pushing against each other, open, hungry lips sucking on whatever piece of flesh they can find. Shanks remains sheathed within his lover, feeling his cum move inside Mihawk as he leans in. He can _hear_ it, the absolutely filthy wet sound it produces riddles his skin with goosebumps. 

He pulls out, reluctantly, though he is thrilled to see his cum trickle out of his lover’s hole and down his leg. Without a second thought, he drops to his knees and buries his face between the pale cheeks, tongue greedily lapping at the mess he made. Mihawk’s protests all die in his mouth, coming out as nothing but choked moans and gasps. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” the redhead purrs, pulling back just to bite the supple flesh.

Mihawk leans further down the counter, spreading his legs to accommodate Shanks. “You’re filthy,” he mumbles. He says it like it’s an insult but his legs are shaking, a fresh sheen of sweat covers his naked body. What a little hypocrite, calling Shanks filthy when he’s the one so worked-up over the thought of having another man fuck him while his husband watches. 

When Shanks is done, tongue heavy with his own cum and the lube residue, he stands back up. Mihawk is leaning against his forearms, trying to regain control of his breath. He’s shaking as he stands up, a marvel to look at with his puffy lips and messy hair, chiseled body covered in marks. It always amazed Shanks that even in moments like these, when Mihawk is all fucked out, his dignity remains completely intact.

Shanks watches through the mirror as Mihawk paces towards the shower. He adjusts the temperature and gets underneath the spray of water, letting it run in rivulets down his body. The redhead sits back and takes the scene, letting his gaze roam shamelessly over the body he knows so well, he’s worshipped so many times. He’s fully intent on sitting back and enjoying the show, until Mihawk cracks a golden eye open, watching him through thick lashes, heavy with the droplets of water. His body glows pink with the heat, lips open just to let a breath out, just to flash Shanks another of those teasing smirks.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch?”

He’d be a fool to deny such an invitation. 

..

Doflamingo can’t remember the last time he was this obsessed. It might actually be the first, seeing that the feeling is almost entirely new. In a way, it reminds him of all those years ago, when he was bending over backward to get a smidge of Crocodile’s attention, the only one that ever proved to be a challenge. Reminiscent but not the same, not even close. 

“Where are you?”

It takes a moment too long for the question to be heard, let alone understood. Doflamingo turns to his lover slowly, tearing his gaze from the window. They’re sitting in the smoking lounge of Doflamingo’s home, simply enjoying one another’s company. Rosinante is leaning against the window, looking out to the stormy day. 

“Here,” Doflamingo replies stupidly. Crocodile rolls his eyes. “Obviously. Why?”

“I’ve been talking to you for the last two minutes and you haven’t said a single thing.”

Before Doflamingo can muster a response, Rosinante breaks out in laughter. He saunters over to the couch where the two older men are and slumps over his brother, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke in his face. 

“Doffy’s a bit distracted because he has a little crush.”

That cocky grin would have been unacceptable on anyone else, but Rosinante is the only person Doflamingo can never get mad at. 

“Is that right?” Crocodile mumbles, vaguely interested. Such instances are common, it’s very often that a beautiful stranger catches Doflamingo’s eye and ends up in their bed, tied, shared, thoroughly consumed until their appetites are satisfied.

Rosinante hums. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and some ash dribbles down, burning a hole on the couch’s emerald velvet. “It’s Hawkeyes.”

Doflamingo can’t remember when he last saw Crocodile be genuinely surprised. “Hawkeyes?” he repeats, looking at Doflamingo with disbelief. 

“You know him?” Doflamingo urges. He cringes at the sound of his own voice. The boyish excitement barely fits him anymore.

Crocodile sighs. He picks his cigar up from the ashtray and places it between his lips. “Yes. I know him. It’s been around ten years since I last saw him in public.” Crocodile is willing to entertain his partner’s curiosity, though he’s still torturing him in his own, special way, taking his sweet time between his responses. “I don’t think he likes to be seen. I’m honestly surprised you managed to meet him.”

Cursed be the moment Doflamingo had met this elusive creature. 

“Did he tell you to fuck off?”

“Kindly,” Doflamingo smirks. He leans closer to his lover, reaching to run his thumb over the pale, hollow cheek. Rosinante is still draped over him, one hand underneath Doflamingo’s shirt, tracing idle shapes on the caramel-colored muscle. 

“But that only encourages you.”

“You know me so well, baby,” the blond purrs. 

He graces Doflamingo with a smile, the kind that’s only reserved for the two of them. Well, three. With time, Doflamingo has learned to embrace the flush of emotion that overcomes him when he’s with his lover. No matter how he scowls or berates Doflamingo for his sometimes suffocating eccentricity, he’s always there in the end, fully on board with whatever Doflamingo has in that devilish mind of his. No one has ever allowed him to be greedy like this, no one has ever given him room to indulge in his vices, to seek out and conquer beauty. It’s what makes being with Crocodile so _fun_ , and why no matter how many pairs of pretty eyes Doflamingo sees, he will always return to this. Home.

There’s a knock on the door and all three of them look up. Rosinante pulls away, walking back to his previous spot. “Come in,” Doflamingo says and Monet steps inside.

“Sorry for the interruption. You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Doflamingo questions. Monet nods. Doflamingo doesn’t remember having any appointments scheduled for the day. And besides, this is his home, his sanctuary. It’s not the place for work unless absolutely necessary. It must be urgent, though Monet’s calm demeanor confuses him. “Who is it?”

“Dracule Mihawk.”

At the mere mention of the name, the three men in the room freeze. Doflamingo isn’t sure he heard right until he asks Monet to repeat herself. 

“Black hair, pale as hell, creepy eyes?” Rosinante asks. Monet nods. “Holy shit.”

Doflamingo shoots up straight. “You two stay here,” he barks, glaring at his lover and younger brother behind his shades. “No one is ruining this for me.”

“We’re here to console you if you get your heart broken,” Rosinante snickers and Doflamingo has to fight the urge to chuck the nearest vase at his smug, shit-eating grin.

“Did he say what he wants?” Doflamingo asks his eldest daughter as they make their way to the foyer. 

Monet shakes her head. “He only said that he needed to see you. Said it’s for business.”

How vague. All the more exhilarating. “Why’d you let him in?”

“Well, he’s pretty intimidating.”

Once they reach the bottom of the stairs, Doflamingo freezes. There Mihawk is, standing before one of the paintings, a vision in all black. He heard him come in, Doflamingo knows it, but he has made no move to acknowledge his presence. Doflamingo hurriedly sends Money off and approaches the other man. His stance is nonchalant but the blood in his veins grows hotter at the very whiff of Mihawk’s musky cologne. 

“It’s not often that one finds a Caravaggio in a private collection.”

Doflamingo shudders. Despite only having heard it once, he’s missed that voice terribly. He walks closer, towering over the black-haired man. He looks beautiful, regal and unapproachable like he always does. Doflamingo feels like he should be on his knees, kissing the single tile that stands between them.

“It’s not often that one has the means to acquire it.” Mihawk hums, a quiet little sound in lieu of laughter. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Not in this way. Doflamingo woke up and fell asleep with the thought of them meeting again in a room alone, drunk on wine and eager to please.

“Nobody expects an unannounced guest.” Mihawk turns to the side slightly, looking up to Doflamingo. “Unless you’ve been hoping to see me.”

“I have,” he mumbles, smiling. “Dying for it, actually.”

Mihawk seems taken aback by the boldness. It lasts only for a second but Doflamingo catches the flash of surprise that shines in those unearthly eyes. “I’m here for business.” His tone is cold, cutting through steel, giving nothing away. 

“Shall we take this in my office?” Mihawk nods. “Right this way.”

The office space was the first room Doflamingo designed when he moved into this house. While he let his kids more or less go ham with the rest of the place, he took it upon himself to personally overlook the construction of this room. It’s elegant and opulent but not suffocating. The floor-to-ceiling windows supply the room with more than adequate lighting, the furniture and art on the walls have all been selected with particular care and attention to even the smallest detail.

Doflamingo motions at his guest to take a seat in one of the offered armchairs, He paces to the mini bar, choosing two crystal glasses and a decanter of whiskey. He walks back to the desk, holding the two drinks, giving one to Mihawk.

“Cheers,” he says and the other man doesn’t return the gesture, simply bringing it to his lips. “So. Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Let’s.” Mihawk lowers the glass, still keeping it in his graceful hands. “I’ve witnessed first-hand your effectiveness when it comes to locating pieces of art. I would like to employ you.”

“Very well,” Doflamingo murmurs. “What is it that you need?”

“Enma.” Mihawk speaks the word casually, letting it drift afloat as he sips on his bourbon. “It’s my son’s 18th birthday soon and I would like to present it to him as a present.”

“Enma? Oden’s sword?” Mihawk nods, eyeing Doflamingo like he’s an idiot for asking painfully obvious and useless questions. Doflamingo leans back in his chair, unable to stop the grin that’s blooming across his lips. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Won’t your father-in-law mind it that you’re usurping his deceased friend’s family heirloom?”

Mihawk quirks a brow. “Are you really concerned with Roger's feelings?”

“Small talk, Hawkeyes.”

There’s that hum again. Mihawk swirls the liquid around his glass. “Can I trust you with this, Joker?”

Doflamingo has to pause for a moment, wait for the blood that’s gathered at his cock to move back in his brain, help him form a coherent thought. “It’s part of Kaido’s private collection.” 

“And? I asked you something and I’ve yet to receive a response.”

Demanding little thing, expecting the best from everyone simply because he is perfection incarnate. Is there any point in voicing his concerns? He is powerless before that mesmerizing gaze and the logical part of his brain quickly labels him a fool. He’s amazed at his own eagerness to bend over backward for the demigod in front of him, to appease him, to make it known, loud and clear, that he’s one word away from laying the world at Mihawk’s feet. Yes, it’s dangerous, most likely costly, and an overall pain in the ass to deal with. But Mihawk removes his coat and his white, puff-sleeved shirt barely covers his chiseled chest, his slacks wrap around that lovely waist of his, oh, so perfectly, and suddenly, Doflamingo’s head is nothing but air.

“I can do it.” His voice is merely a whisper, dark and heavy with desire. “If this is what you want, I can give it to you. But it will cost.”

Mihawk waves his hand dismissively. “The price doesn’t concern me.”

“A lot,” Doflamingo adds, lilt to his voice, fire in his eyes. Mihawk shrugs. Slowly, he rises to his feet. He puts his empty glass down and walks around the desk, stopping in front of Doflamingo. Their eyes remain locked as Mihawk sinks on his knees, pushing Doflamingo’s legs apart. 

“Does your husband know you’re doing this?” Mihawk shoots a glare up at him, dripping with venom. Doflamingo doesn’t stop. He places his hand on the nape of Mihawk’s neck, gently guiding him towards his crotch. “Does he know you’re such a good little whore?” He jabs his thumb into Mihawk’s mouth, groaning in delight when the other man takes it in and sucks it gently. “Is this why he married you?”

Just as Doflamingo had expected, Mihawk is a quiet lover. He remains completely soundless, cold and casual as he undoes Doflamingo’s belt and zipper, tugging on his pants until his cock springs free. He sighs at the expected lack of underwear but moves on. He scoots closer, mouth hovering over Doflamingo’s cock. Aside from being taciturn even in sex, he is also, still, painfully straightforward. He grabs Doflamingo’s erection and starts stroking it, bringing it to full hardness. 

Doflamingo was expecting him to be incredibly hot - it’s always the most reserved ones - just never this fucking _filthy_. Mihawk spits on his cock and takes it all in like a champ, not stopping until his nose is buried in dark blonde curls. He looks up and Doflamingo has to yank him back by the neck before he cums on the spot. He’s panting already, glasses slipping off the edge of his sweaty nose. Mihawk’s cheeks have the loveliest pink flush, lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

“I thought this was going to cost me a lot,” he mumbles, leaning in to tug on Doflamingo’s Prince Albert piercing with his teeth. Doflamingo hisses, arching his hips as his grip on the other man’s neck tightens. Shanks is one lucky bastard.

Mihawk is an absolute sin and Doflamingo can only sit back and moan shamelessly, sloppily guiding him up and down on his cock. His tongue swirls furiously, circling and pressing on the barbells on the underside. He sucks his cheeks in and pulls all the way back up, sucking on the pierced head like it’s a piece of hard candy.

“Fuck,” Doflamingo murmurs in a haze. He groans, head rolling to the side. Worst of all, Mihawk is looking at him while he does this, keeping his gaze magnetized, daring him to even think about looking anywhere else. 

He pulls away and Doflamingo whines. Mihawk chuckles softly. He mouths hotly at Doflamingo’s length, sucking deep kisses from the base, all the way to the leaking head. He collects the beads of precum with his tongue before swallowing Doflamingo once again. The cold metal of the hoop around Doflamingo’s tip grazes the burning back of Mihawk’s throat. Doflamingo bucks his hips forward and he’s just _thrilled_ to see Mihawk is following him, taking it all in without much of a sound, eyeing him through dark lashes and smirking as he continues to move. Doflamingo’s long, agile fingers sink into Mihawk’s silky hair, tugging harshly. Only a couple of minutes and the man has proven that he can take it, he can take it all. Aside from Crocodile and a few very rare trysts, Doflamingo has never met someone that has allowed him to be this greedily rough, to simply take what he wants without a second thought.

Mihawk hums around his cock, the soft vibrations send shivers down Doflamingo’s spine. He presses his hands on the blond’s thighs, pushing them further apart. Doflamingo’s eyes nearly pop out as Mihawk swallows him even deeper, hot throat convulsing hungrily around his length. Doflamingo digs one hand in the leather armrest, the other still gripping on Mihawk’s neck as he releases into that perfect little mouth. His hips snap forward involuntarily and by the time he’s done, he’s twitching, limp and boneless, watching Mihawk rise to his feet as casually as ever, like he was just done tying his shoelaces. A drop of cum rolls out of the corner of his mouth but he quickly collects it with his thumb, sucking it back in. Doflamingo grabs him by that perfect waist and shoves him on the desk, kissing him with devastating hunger on a mess of papers and broken knickknacks. He tastes himself on Mihawk’s tongue along with something new, something absolutely intoxicating that he can’t get enough of.

A sharp slap on his cheek cuts his advances short. He falls back on his chair, hand over the aching skin. Mihawk is glaring at him, the sole of his shoe pressed on Doflamingo’s chest, pinning him down. Doflamingo can feel himself getting hard again.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” the other man chides. “You’re free to collect your payment once the deed is done.” He hops off the desk and goes back to his coat. Like their last meeting, he doesn’t spare Doflamingo a glance or some parting words. 

..

In hindsight (post-nut clarity), asking for an item of such value from his notoriously terrifying boss’ private collection is a horrible idea. Days pass and Doflamingo still has no idea how to bring this up. At first, he considers approaching Kaido while he’s drunk, sugarcoating his offer a bit and presenting the idea to him while he’s still intoxicated. He scraps this plan and quickly moves on to the next one, which includes buying the sword from him. It’s pretty straight-forward but the chances of success are once again limited. More time passes and his frustration at his never-before-seen incompetence grows. He has until the 11th of November to present Mihawk with the goods and time is running out. Fast.

Proving, once again, that he is God's favorite, Doflamingo finds an unlikely ally in Yamato, who’s very eager to _“fuck up that old piece of shit in any way possible”_. Though Yamato was reluctant to let go of Enma, Doflamingo’s neverending charisma worked miracles on the young man’s nerves. Without much effort, he managed to pinpoint exactly what it is that Yamato desires and in a matter of a few hours, he presented him with the keys to a downtown apartment and a safe way out of his father's estate. 

And now he waits, sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, eyeing the sword that’s set on the coffee table in front of him. He’s at a hotel room that Mihawk had indicated as the meeting point for their rendezvous. The suite is entirely agreeable with Mihawk’s tastes; dark, moody, dipped in crimson red and royal purple. There’s a wide wine selection waiting for Doflamingo and he carefully picks out an appropriate blend. It’s a bit too dry for his tastes but the rich, earthy flavor combined with the sweeter cherry undertones makes up for it tenfold. He sips on it and waits, busying himself with staring at the clock.

10 PM. Mihawk should have arrived thirty minutes ago. He gave Doflamingo a contact number but Doflamingo is never the one to stoop so low as to blast a partner’s phone with demanding texts, choosing instead to sulk and frown at the passing minutes. Another ten pass before Mihawk finally makes his appearance. He’s once again decked out in all black, not that his gigantic coat allows for a glimpse of what lies underneath. 

“Good evening,” he greets casually.

Doflamingo frowns. “How nice of you, only making me wait forty minutes,” he lilts, voice dripping with irritation.

“You’re welcome,” Mihawk says in complete, dumb-founding seriousness. Before Doflamingo has the chance to even respond to that, Mihawk's eyes seek out the blade on the table. “Is that it?” he asks. For once, there’s emotion in his voice other than annoyance or disgust.

“Yes, it is. I told you I could do it.”

Mihawk ignores him, going straight for the blade instead. Doflamingo sits back, watching the other man interact with the weapon. His moves are so careful, delicate and fluid. He’s done this before, he knows just how to grasp the scabbard and how to test the blade. As his fingers wrap around the handle, he hisses softly, and Doflamingo quirks a brow. 

“Remarkable,” he murmurs in awe. 

Doflamingo understands little of what’s going on but Mihawk is evidently satisfied and that’s all that matters. He puts his glass down and rolls up, walking behind the black-haired man. He brings one long finger to the nape of Mihawk’s hair, idly playing with the fine hairs. He traces the shell of his ear, the sharp edge of his jaw and his carefully styled facial hair. He grabs him by the chin, forcing his gaze to meet the pink shades.

“I take it you’re satisfied.”

Mihawk nods. “Thoroughly.”

Doflamingo grins. “Good.” He runs a thumb over Mihawk’s bottom lip, testing its softness. Those gorgeously long lashes cast shadows over pale cheeks and Doflamingo can already feel his knees buckle.

Mihawk’s hands move to the knot holding his coat closed and he slowly undoes it. The reveal of his absolutely divine naked body, save for a black, lace garter belt and silk stockings has Doflamingo gasping softly. He lets the coat drop to the floor, pooling around his feet, and there he stands before Doflamingo’s famished gaze, quite literally, in all his glory. Doflamingo can’t remember ever seeing a creature so absolutely godly, breath-taking in an alien and simply inconceivable manner. Some masterpieces of Renaissance could perhaps dare hold a candle, but the man before him is flesh and bone, real and all for Doflamingo to savor. 

“You’re beautiful.”

His filter has completely disappeared and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the wine or the man before him. Though he’s barely able to hold himself back, he manages to handle his desire. He wants this night to be long, drawn-out, to drink Mihawk drop to drop until the only option left is to begin again. 

Mihawk walks to the bed, gracing Doflamingo with the finest view of his sculpted behind. Doflamingo doesn’t join him yet, suddenly struck with a wonderful idea. He grabs the bottle of wine he opened and brings it to the bed. Mihawk’s gaze is quizzical but he finally pieces it together, humming with a little smile when Doflamingo’s intentions become clear. He lays down on the bed, a piece of ivory floating atop the dark red satin sheets, and Doflamingo looms at the foot of the bed, taking in his image with need. Soft and sharp mix in the most enticing way. Doflamingo can’t help but admire those expensive cheekbones, the sharp edge of those eyes, the defined muscle, and the tight, supple flesh of those milky thighs. Mihawk hooks one foot between Doflamingo’s legs, tugging him closer.

Envy is an unknown feeling to Doflamingo, the mere notion that _he_ would ever be jealous of another is simply absurd. But the moment he kisses Mihawk, properly for the first time, he wishes he was Shanks, even for just a day. Is there a joy greater than this, waking up next to this beauty, kissing him first thing in the morning? Doflamingo sinks into the kiss, letting the other tug on his bottom lip with his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood. The sound of protest dies in his mouth as Mihawk sucks on the fresh blood, alternating tongue, and teeth. His hand moves to the back of Doflamingo’s neck, the other feeling down his chest. Doflamingo pulls back and sticks his mouth to Mihawk’s neck. He kisses and bites, worshipping the creamy skin that glows gold under the dim light. Mihawk bruises beautifully, Doflamingo can already see marks bloom pink and red on his neck and down his torso. He reaches for the wine and pours shot after shot on Mihawk’s chest, watching it run in the rivulets of his defined muscles. His tongue laps at the liquid, earning him a little gasp and a tug of those fingers in his hair.

Doflamingo pauses when he hears the door click open and close again. Shanks steps into the room, flashing the two men an impressed smile. “Go on,” he says. “Pretend I’m not here.”

As enticing as the idea of fucking Mihawk while his _husband_ watches is, Doflamingo can’t help but be confused. Mihawk is quirking a brow up at him, eyeing him with that very special brand of haughty contempt that Doflamingo has grown to associate with him. They’re a package deal, he should have known, and although Shanks has taken a seat on the couch, away from the bed, the look he and Mihawk are sharing says it all. Doflamingo doesn’t expect him to stay put for too long.

“I wasn’t aware this was part of the deal,” Doflamingo comments.

“As if you haven’t given the key to your brother and Crocodile,” Mihawk scoffs. “Red,” he calls, turning to his spouse. He reaches out to him and Shanks stands up immediately. He moves to the bed, grabbing Mihawk’s hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing it chastely. Doflamingo wants to roll his eyes at the sweetness of it all but there is nothing to mock about the fire that sparks between them. They share an open-mouthed kiss, slow and sensuous, tongues meeting and lips clashing as Doflamingo takes the erotic image in.

“I’ll walk you through it,” Shanks smiles as he makes himself comfortable behind his husband. Mihawk throws his hands over his head and Shanks pins both wrists down with one hand.

Doflamingo chuckles. “He comes with instructions?”

“Yes. Takes special skill to fuck the noise out of this one," he purrs, voice low and dark. “You don’t strike me as the type who likes them quiet.”

That much is right. Mihawk seems entirely unwilling to make any noise but dammit, Doflamingo deserves it. He worked for this, put his life and career on the line for one night with the man and he has a right to do with him as he pleases. His hands roam over the expanse of unblemished, pale skin that stretches before him. His tongue joins, licking a long line from Mihawk’s belly button all the way to his chin, once again ending in his already marked neck, tasting the wine’s sticky residue. So far, he’s only produced little gasps and sighs. As adorable as these little sounds are, Doflamingo wants more.

He reaches back to the nightstand, where a bottle of lube stands. Of course, he came prepared. He gives his fingers a thorough coat and pulls Mihawk’s hips on his thighs, holding him open with a bony knee. Using one finger, he traces the rim, feeling it flex under his touch. Once it’s slick enough, he slides the first finger in all the way to the last knuckle. Mihawk squirms. Doflamingo adds the second and starts moving, alternating thrusting and scissoring. He hooks them upwards and Mihawk gasps, the loudest sound he’s made so far. 

“Good,” Shanks smiles. His gaze is transfixed on Doflamingo’s fingers, watching them fuck his husband open. He’s hard, the tent in his black slacks is difficult to ignore. 

Doflamingo presses against the sweet spot again, more firmly this time, and Mihawk keens softly. His hole clenches around the digits, practically sucking them in. His cock is almost flat against his lower stomach, twitching with the need for attention. Doflamingo adds a third finger and picks up the pace, thrusting his fingers against the black-haired man’s prostate. Just as he thought Mihawk couldn’t get any more beautiful, he arches his back with such grace when his sweet, sweet spot is attacked again and again. He bites down on his bottom lip in an attempt to silence himself but Doflamingo jams his thumb in that pretty mouth, holding it open.

“Sing for me,” he coos, continuing his ministrations, watching with rapture as a thin line of drool rolls down the corner of Mihawk’s lips. 

At the fourth finger, Mihawk graces them with the first moan. It’s the loveliest sound, pure honey that Doflamingo sucks straight from his lips. He leans over, practically folding the smaller man in two as he continues finger-fucking him furiously. All these little expressions, the lustful eyes, the puffy lips, the flushed cheeks, they go straight to Doflamingo’s cock and he can barely hold back anymore.

“Shanks,” Mihawk gasps, pulling hard against his husband’s hold.

“Not me, sweetheart,” Shanks croons. “He’s the one doing this to you.”

Doflamingo noses up Mihawk’s neck. He folds his thumb and slowly pushes it in. He wonders if he should have asked for the limits first, but Mihawk looks like the type who can just do it all, can do it better than anyone. He takes it, of course he does. He takes it so gracefully and eagerly that Doflamingo can feel his heart fucking flutter. Those golden eyes shoot open, his mouth falls agape as Doflamingo stretches him with his whole fist, pressing it snuggly against his sweet spot. 

“Say my name, baby bird,” he whispers, adding a lick to the side of Mihawk’s face.

“Don’t order him around like that.”

Doflamingo pauses. “If you’re so keen on giving orders, why don’t you just fuck him yourself?”

“I’ve been getting fucked by him for the past 23 years,” Mihawk intervenes. He’s panting, barely conscious, with a fist up his ass and a leaking, aching cock, but his voice hasn’t lost its sharpness, his tone remains as smug and authoritative as always. “It’s you I want.”

Shanks chuckles. He leans down and whispers something in Mihawk’s ear, a few words only understood by them. Doflamingo would have felt like he was interrupting if Mihawk wasn’t looking straight at him, wordlessly urging him to keep going.

“Touch me,” he groans, and Doflamingo has no option but to oblige. He wraps his free hand around Mihawk’s cock and starts stroking, all the while the hand inside of him is still moving. Mihawk writhes and shivers but the two men are holding him pinned down, preventing any escape. His thighs shake and squeeze Doflamingo’s waist, his pretty hole is still clenching around his wrist. When he’s seconds away from cumming, Shanks quickly removes his hand from his wrists and wraps it around his neck, cutting that final breath short. He arches his back when he climaxes, expression twisted into something indescribable. Stunning feels too poor of a word to describe the way that pretty waist moves up, how his lashes flutter shut, that wanton sound that leaves his lips. Doflamingo hasn’t stopped, stroking Mihawk’s cock until he’s milked it dry, all the while his entire hand is massaging the other man’s prostate.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, reaching down to kiss Mihawk on the forehead. 

The night is still young and Doflamingo isn’t a complete savage. He waits for this lover’s breath to calm down before he starts unbuttoning his pants, freeing his hard cock. He takes it in his slick, lubed-up hand and gives it a few lazy strokes, watching as Mihawk’s gaze is pinned on it, eyeing it like it’s candy.

“And you managed to take that entire thing down your throat without choking?” Shanks comments. He tips his lover’s head backward, giving him an upside-down kiss. “Aren’t you a trooper...”

“He told you?”

“Obviously. Can’t you tell that we share everything?”

The door opens once again and this time, two people enter. Crocodile steps inside first, followed by Rosinante. The younger Donquixote can barely conceal his surprise as he joins Crocodile on the couch, staring at the trio on the bed with wide eyes.

“Here to watch?” Doflamingo asks, voice colored with the faintest mocking tone.

“For now,” Crocodile responds. “I wanna see if he’s worth it.”

“And how do I know _you're_ worth it? Crusty old man.”

“Hawkeyes,” Shanks chides warningly but he can’t help laughing. 

Crocodile clicks his tongue. “Does he always talk back this much?”

“Only when his interest is piqued. You could try keeping his mouth busy in another way.”

Crocodile scoffs. He remains seated, passing up the invitation, though it’s obvious he is interested. 

Doflamingo grabs Mihawk by the thighs, right where milky skin meets black silk, pushing his legs apart. He hums as he traces a finger over his puffy, stretched hole, still clenching out of reflex. With his cock held in one hand, he lines himself up to Mihawk’s entrance, pushing inside slowly. Mihawk’s hand curls into the sheets while the other flies to his mouth, hushing all those shameless sounds that escape him. The contrast is lovely, his hole is practically sucking Doflamingo in but he still has a mind to be quiet. When Doflamingo finally pushes his cock inside to the last inch, his chest is heaving, breath coming out in fast pants. He’s tight, God, he’s so deliciously tight. Even with the prep work, he squeezes around Doflamingo greedily. The blond grins, tongue rolling out of his mouth to collect a few stray drops of sweat. 

The body underneath him writhes and shivers. The alabaster skin glistens with a sheen of sweat. Doflamingo watches intently, unable to tear his gaze away, as Mihawk’s mouth falls open, eyes narrowed into two golden slits when he pulls back out, torturous and slow. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, voice nothing but a breathy little whisper. 

Doflamingo’s grip on Mihawk’s hips is hard enough to bruise, fingers digging roughly into plush muscle and bone. He holds his body still while thrusting at an almost punishing pace. The sound of flesh hitting flesh bounces off the walls, accompanied by the lovely music Mihawk makes. He’s still trying to stay quiet, blushing bright red both at the way he sounds and the way Doflamingo’s fucking him within an inch of his life. As he’s being held down, pinned by Doflamingo’s iron grip, he can feel it all. The thick cock that’s fucking him into the bed, the piercings that rub against his walls, the hot mouth that presses kisses into his neck, the pure filth Doflamingo spews into his ear. He’s sensitive from the orgasm he had mere minutes ago but he can feel pleasure coil in his belly once more. His arms fly around Doflamingo’s neck and shoulders, fingers clawing at the blonde hair. 

“Hey, Doffy,” Rosinante calls out. “Don’t hide the view from us!”

“If you want to have a look, you’re gonna have to come closer, Roci.”

Rosinante pouts. For a moment, it seems like he’s about to cave but Crocodile keeps him down, rubbing the metal curve of his hook against the younger man’s clothed erection.

“Hold him open for me.”

Doflamingo looks up, confused. Shanks is already working on his belt and zipper, holding his cock in his hand and stroking himself. Mihawk gets up on his elbows and looks at Doflamingo. 

“Sit down,” he instructs. 

Doflamingo’s breath hitches in his throat. He catches Shanks’ eye over Mihawk’s shoulder. His mouth is already watering at the thought of both their cocks fucking Mihawk silly, but he has to ask, first. Won’t be so great to have him pass out in the middle of sex.

“Can he take it?”

“Of course,” Shanks replies proudly. “He’s done it before. Several times, actually.”

Doflamingo can only wonder who those other lucky bastards were. Crocodile whistles softly, impressed. “Who would have thought that a stick-in-the-mud would be such a great whore.”

Doflamingo hums. He leans back until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, floating on a mountain of pillows. His smile is soft as he watches Mihawk impale himself on his cock, taking it all in so expertly. “It’s always the most reserved ones.”

He moves his hands from where he's stroking Mihawk’s waist, to his ass, holding the cheeks spread open. Shanks scoots closer, arm placed on his husband’s hip to keep himself stable. 

“God, yes,” Mihawk hisses. He slumps forward, back curved as he shivers helplessly. It’s torture in its purest form, the best, sweetest mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure. His toes curl, his body buzzes with the sensation of being filled to the brim. 

Shanks bends over against his back, trailing his hand up his neck. He smiles as he breathes heavily. “Perfect,” he praises, giving Mihawk a peck on the cheek. 

“Sit up, sweetheart,” Doflamingo purrs. “We want to see that pretty face of yours.”

Slowly, Mihawk pushes himself up to his shaking arms. Shanks is kind enough to loop his arm around his waist, holding him pressed against his chest while fucking into him alongside Doflamingo. When one pulls out, the other thrusts back in, keeping up a brutal pace that has Mihawk helplessly gasping for air. He’s gorgeous, absolutely sublime, all half-lidded eyes and puffy lips aching to be kissed. Shanks grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back, taking his lips in a passionate kiss. It’s sloppy, broken by Mihawk’s little hiccups, but that makes it all the more erotic. He moans wantonly into his husband’s mouth, letting him drink all those sounds drop to drop. His hands slither on top of Doflamingo’s, slick with sweat and shaking. He’s trying to move his hips to the tempo of his lovers but he’s too out of it to even think. Drool leaks off the side of his mouth and his heavy lashes glisten with tears. He can only sit and let them use him as they see fit.

“Fuck,” Doflamingo curses. “You take us so well…”

He’s surprised at his own voice, how tender he sounds. If there’s a way to his heart, this has to be it. Mihawk leans down, spine curved and eyes full of the sweetest venom, a lithe feline more than anything. He captures the blond’s lips in an almost chaste kiss.

“I’m so full,” he moans against Doflamingo’s lips. "So fucking full..."

“You still want more, dontcha?” Shanks teases. 

Mihawk nods and Doflamingo would be a liar if he said he’s ever been so damn turned on. “Yes,” Mihawk admits slowly. “Please.”

“Which one do you want?” Doflamingo purrs. He doesn’t stop moving, still thrusting into that lovely little hole alongside Shanks. Mihawk wants to respond but all that ever comes out are mangled moans and whimpers. The way the soft, orange light falls on them makes the scene feel sacred. Shanks lavishes his lover with hungry kisses while Doflamingo worships that pretty body with his hands. To them, he’s a God, and they’re about to lay the world at his feet.

Crocodile rises from the couch, casually pacing towards the three. He stops before the bed, idly observing the scene. They’re all about to release, their moves are growing frantic, almost panicky. Mihawk is sandwiched between them, helpless and at their complete mercy. Shanks yanks his head back and buries his teeth in the back of his neck as Doflamingo takes the front, running his tongue over all the marks he’d already felt. He cums again, shivering and moaning loudly, too sensitive, feeling it send jolts of electricity down his spine. His cock only lets a few weak spurts out, releasing over Doflamingo’s torso. He falls forward with a groan, limp and boneless, gasping softly as they’re still fucking him. 

Doflamingo isn’t sure who came first, but he nearly blacked out when it happened, cumming in thick spurts inside Mihawk, filling him up like never before. His hand moves to the man’s stomach and he damn near cums again at the little swell he finds there. He can feel _it_ underneath all those layers of flesh, he can feel them both moving around inside of him.

“Oh, honey,” he coos.

“Didn’t I tell you? He’s perfect,” Shanks sighs and kisses the tip of Mihawk’s nose. “You want us to pull out, baby?” Mihawk shakes his head. “Words, sweetheart. Tell us what you want.”

Doflamingo looks down, where Mihawk is still sprawled on his chest. His orgasm made his eyes roll back, he’s breathing softly, shallowly. As he rises to his forearms, he finds Doflamingo’s reflective shades. His gaze remains there for a few seconds and that’s when Doflamingo realizes the vain little bastard is admiring his fucked-out expression. Unsurprisingly, it makes him even hotter. 

“I want you inside of me,” he murmurs. His long, thin fingers trail a path across Doflamingo’s muscular abdomen. Doflamingo shivers, his spent cock twitching inside the smaller man. “And I want him, too.”

Crocodile laughs. “Like hell I’m coming anywhere that used hole of yours.

“Like hell I’m gonna let you.”

Crocodile is close enough for Mihawk to grab him by his coat and drag him closer. He doesn’t object, in fact, he smiles only a little. He puts a knee up the bed, the other leg staying on the floor. The scent of tobacco is strong, his eyes are heavy as he glances down at Mihawk.

“You two have a fucked-up marriage.”

Shanks snorts. Again, his nose is buried in every bit of Mihawk’s skin he can find. His desire for his spouse is truly insatiable. “Thanks for your professional opinion, Crocodile.”

“Don’t provoke him, Red. He’ll take it out on me.”

“Assuming that’s not exactly what you want.”

“If you have the energy to run that mouth of yours,” Crocodile growls, “you should at least be doing something useful with it.”

His eyes find Mihawk’s as the latter undoes his pants, pulling them down until his erection comes into view. Crocodile grabs him by the jaw, forcing his mouth open. He presses the tip against Mihawk’s lips. Mihawk just keeps exceeding Doflamingo’s expectations, which is more than an admirable feat. He’s got two cocks inside of him, his abused hole is leaking cum and he can still take Crocodile down his throat no problem. He’s tired, that much is obvious, but he’s still going. At this point, Doflamingo is unable to keep his hands to himself, constantly seeking out the other man’s skin. 

Crocodile is a hard man to please, even for his lover of more than a decade. Usually, when he and Doflamingo have other people join, Crocodile takes a more passive, no-hands-on role. He rarely does or accepts much more than a blowjob and Doflamingo knows very well that it’s not a lack of confidence. Crocodile gets bored easily, too easily, so seeing him interact with someone who gets tired of people just as fast is interesting, to say the least. 

He holds Mihawk by the nape of his neck, fully intent on fucking his pretty mouth but Mihawk isn’t letting him. He pushes back against Crocodile, letting his skilled tongue and lips take full control. His eyes are trained on Crocodile’s face, glaring venomously while very pliantly sucking him off. There are so many things Crocodile wants to say - insults, most likely - but each time he opens his mouth, Mihawk sucks a little harder, takes him a little deeper, licks the head like a sticky lollipop and the words turn into soft growls.

“Look at you, Hawkeyes,” he snarls. “Your hole’s still stuffed, your mouth too… I gotta hand it to you, Shanks. Never thought you’d have such a perfect little toy.”

“Toy?” Shanks questions. “He’s not a toy, he’s the love of my life.” Crocodile rolls his eyes and Doflamingo smiles. They’re pretty sweet.

Finally, Rosinante gets up from the couch. He leans against Crocodile, pausing for a moment to take the scene in. “God, he’s hot. Bet he’s great at it, too.” Crocodile hums approvingly, hand buried Mihawk’s messed-up hair, bringing his head closer. “Hey, pull out already. You had your fun.”

Doflamingo doesn’t object when his little brother pushes him away. Their parents taught them at an early age to share their toys with each other. As he pulls out, cum leaks out of Mihawk’s hole, dribbling down on the crumpled sheets. 

“Wait,” Shanks suddenly says. Crocodile looks on in annoyance as Mihawk pulls away from his cock. “Color?”

Mihawk pauses. He glances at Rosinante, sizing him up, and stops to think. “Green.”

Shanks nods. Giving his husband another tender kiss, he pulls out, groaning softly, and leans back, watching Rosinante climb on the bed. The younger Donquixote brother spreads Mihawk’s cheeks apart and hisses lowly. He pushes a finger in and it creates the most obscene, wet sound.

“You don’t mind the mess?” Doflamingo inquires, reaching up to play with the fine golden hairs on the back of his baby brother’s neck.

“I like them messy,” Rosinante murmurs. He rolls on his back, scooting under Mihawk and pulling him up until he’s riding his face. 

“Look at that,” Shanks laughs. “Both of you brothers are filthy as hell.”

Rosinante’s tongue laps at Mihawk’s hole, cleaning up all the cum. Mihawk moans around Crocodile’s cock and shifts his hips forward. The blond’s tongue breaches the ring of loose muscle, pushing in and out slowly. For a moment, it seems like Mihawk wants to say something but Crocodile shoves his cock further down his throat, shushing him.

“Roci,” he groans huskily. “Get him down on the bed.”

Rosinante gets back on his knees. He grabs a fistful of the bed-sheets and wipes his mouth, taking off his already messed-up lipstick. Mihawk lays on his back on the bed, shoulders hanging off the edge. Crocodile pushes back in. The swell of his cock is obvious under Mihawk’s throat, appearing and disappearing with each thrust. Rosinante grabs Mihawk by the hips, holding his legs spread as he lines himself with the other man’s entrance. He’s much gentler than Doflamingo, setting up a relaxed, almost lazy pace, thrusting firmly but slowly. 

“Feels good?” Doflamingo purrs. Rosinante nods. “Incredible, isn’t it? I’m surprised he’s even conscious, still.”

Rosinante fucks Mihawk deeply while Crocodile takes his throat. They move as one, following the same tempo and the body caged between them only writhes, fingers curls into the covers. Rosinante cranes his neck to the side, groaning softly.

“Fuck,” he hisses. He watches in a trance as his cock moves in and out with little resistance, yet that eager hole still sucks him in.

“You can get rough with him,” Doflamingo lilts. “He likes it.”

Rosinante is sure of that. Mihawk has his legs hooked around his hips, keeping him close, urging him to go deeper. Doflamingo stands next to his brother, whispering to him like a demon meant to tempt him. 

“Just like that,” Doflamingo breathes as the snapping of Rosinante’s hips grows quicker, frantic. “What do you say we let him rest a bit and take him together, hmm? We always used to share our toys as kids.”

“You’re so greedy, Doffy,” Rosinante grins. His blonde hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, his warm, brown eyes glimmer with excitement. “Are you jealous he’ll like me more because I’m younger?”

“He likes them older, actually,” Shanks blurts. Doflamingo wonders what the subtext here is and if Shanks' ridiculously attractive Dads have anything to do with this. 

Crocodile leans forward, grabbing Mihawk by the throat. He’s close, it’s obvious. He’s all worked up, his moves are sloppy and stray locks of hair dangle in his scarred face. When he’s about to cum, he pulls back and starts jerking his orgasm out of his cock, releasing all over Mihawk’s face and gaping mouth. 

“Fucking hell,” he gasps. 

“Croc,” Rosinante rasps. “Gimme a kiss.”

Crocodile smiles. Trust his favorite pair of brothers to bring out this side of him, He throws his hook around Rosinante’s neck and pulls him in a languid, open-mouthed kiss, drinking all those sounds he makes as he releases inside Mihawk.

The room falls into stillness. The five men all collapse on the bed, a mess of exhausted, aching limbs. The air reeks of sex and tobacco and it would be difficult to breathe if the scent wasn’t so absolutely addicting. Doflamingo holds Crocodile in his hands, stroking his hair softly. Rosinante lays beside them, breathing quietly as he drifts into sleep. Shanks has Mihawk in his embrace and as always, he’s whispering sweet nothings into his ear while kissing him softly, praising him for how well he did. Doflamingo's gaze is filled with rare sentimentality as he studies Mihawk’s body. His skin bears the signs of them all; bruises, hickeys, the ghosts of rough fingertips, scratches from Crocodile’s hook, Rosinante's lipstick.

“And to think this all happened because of your son’s birthday,” Doflamingo sighs and Shanks chuckles. “Don’t you have a daughter, too?”

Mihawk shifts. He turns to his side, giving Doflamingo a look of complete disgust. “Why the fuck are you bringing up my kids?”

“Well, do you?”

“We do,” Shanks replies, curious. “Why?”

“When’s her birthday?”

**Author's Note:**

> did you guys enjoy it? leave a comment below to tell me your thoughts if you'd like! I definitely had so much fun writing it and you bet it's not the last time I'm writing Mihawk getting his asshole resized by Doflamingo :D


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